Tablets II

1 I close my eyes and I see a dot. It becomes a spot of light. It grows into the size of a person who distances away until it returns to a spot of light, a dot. 2 Like communion bread, your words dissolve in my mouth and never die. 3 I don’t care under which sky — just sing your song till the end. 4 The bone-city I am choked by is also salt also sugar also boiling water in the kettle with no lid. 5 Ask not how many houses were built. Ask how many residents remained in the houses. 6 The flame opens like a giant plant swallowing them one by one with their lost and found sheep. 7 She whose song has no beginning nor end — She whose voice faded into stars and moons — Where is she? Where is she? 8 Dreams come in two types: vertical and horizontal. Tell me the shape of your dream and I will tell you where you come from. 9 Fire and light both sting. We go to sleep when the other half of the globe wakes up. Night and day crammed with dreams. 10 Your look passes through me like lightning. 11 The butterfly that flew a moment ago over the killed ones was the soul searching for home. 12 Our time together has ripened and smashed like berries. 13 Can your camera capture fear in the eyes of mother-sparrow, see the broken eggs in her eyes? 14 A little air means so much for the bird. In the air, a full world extends. The clouds gather and then separate. The leaves wave to each other. For the bird, everything hangs in the air. 15 The pomegranate seeds scattered with our steps were not from heaven. 16 My paper boat that drifted into the river with the world behind it had a special note. It may arrive one day, although late, all truths come late. 17 Dried leaves over there our first yearnings. 18 The shoes by the door will not fit them when they return. 19 She counts the pebbles by her fingers. The other pebbles under water are losses outside her hands. 20 Specks of sand scattered from the fingers our people. 21 The sun reveals a hole in the boat, a glow in the fins of fish still breathing. 22 The day and the night divide our steps on the road as they equally divide the world. 23 I was born. I write poetry. I will die. 24 Her shadow is still here feeding the birds.